Broken
by Toxic Smiling
Summary: Stan always figured that his family was invincible, that nobody went to bed angry. Tragedy had broken more than his new family, it had broken the security he thought would always be there.
1. Prologue

When he woke up, it was obviously very late. Being a dog, Stan didn't have a very firm grasp on the concept of "time", but he was almost sure it was still pretty late at night, because he wasn't exactly hungry yet.

It took him a few moments to remember where he was, because the unwelcoming smell of unwashed laundry through off his senses.

_That's right, I'm in Tyler's room!_ he recalled mentally, careful not to make too much noise. He had decided to sleep up here earlier, he remembered, because it was Tyler's first night back.

Stan lifted his head, ears perked automatically, was a painful sounding gasp emanated from the miserable-looking shape under the mountain of blankets. He gave a low moan of sympathy, apparently just audible enough for the boy to hear him.

Tyler lifted his head from his fetal-position, Stan could see make out the kid's pale face in the dim lighting.

Two weeks in that Teen Boot Camp was enough to break him, which (as the Commandant bitterly pointed out) was a record. The kid got his fair share of pain out of the deal, though. The Minnesota cold and the cheap, inedible food had gotten to him, and it wasn't long before the kid was sick. Really sick, if the stabbing pains in his gut were any indication.

"Sorry, buddy." The raspy voice from the bed pulled Stan from his musings. "I woke you up again, didn't I?"

Stan couldn't help but crack a smile at the kid.

"Yeah, and as soon as you kick this virus in the butt, I expect a treat as compensation."

The kid gave a weak laugh, a shadow of what his laugh used to be.

"Have you slept at all tonight?" Stan made sure to keep his voice soft.

"On and off..." Tyler gently shut his eyes. "I still can't believe it..."

"We'll, you had to be awake to shove your face in the toilet..." Stan had rested his head back down on the doggy-bed. "You're not gonna get a lot of sleep while you're doing that."

"Not that..." His voice was shot, he didn't move his arms from their protective coil around his stomach. "I can't believe that Dad would send me off like that."

"I seem to recall him saying that he would ship you off to boot camp if you failed your chemistry midterm."

"They wouldn't even listen when I called home." Stan couldn't tell in it was emotion or pain that cracked the kid's voice. "They didn't care how sick I got."

Stan could feel himself getting concerned, Tyler never whined about anything, the guy was stronger then that.

"Stan..."

Now Stan was definitely concerned. There was a meek, sinister urgency in Tyler's voice.

"Tyler? What is it?" He bound to his feet, padding up to his young owners sickbed.

"I d-don't fe-feel well..." The kid scrunched his face up, tears welling in his eyes in spite of himself.

Tyler's mouth cracked open in a whimper, and thick red fluid splattered past his lips and onto the sheets.

Stan didn't recognize the fluid, but he knew pain when he saw it. Fear gripped his insides, and he did the only thing he could think of.

He bounded out the door, and rushed up and down the hallway, barking as loud as he possibly could.


	2. What Has Been Broken

"Tyler!"

"No!"

"I'll call 911!"

Stan could only watch helplessly as Bennett pulled the sweaty hair from his son's face. Avery held Chloe tightly, both of them too scared to do anything but wait.

Tyler was rigid, no part of his body was able to move from its awkward positioning. More red stuff continued to seep down his chin, staining the collar of his shirt. His breathing was labored and icy, sounding all too close to a death rattle. His eyes were closed in sleepless exhaustion.

Every once in a while, Bennett's hand would move from its resting place on Tyler's stomach to the crook of his neck, searching desperately for a pulse, a meager hope to hold on to while they waited.

For the first time in three weeks, Tyler moved his head to face his father. "I'm sorry I messed up again." His voice was broken, indistinguishable from the wind that one hears on a calm day.

"Please, hurry!" Ellen gasped into the phone. Tyler's jaw fell slack, more blood shot out from his throat.

Blood. Stan wasn't familiar with that word. He decided that he didn't like it. he hated the color, the sound of the word, everything about it.

He nervously racked his memory, had he ever seen a person bleed before? He couldn't recall.

"S-Stan..." Again, Tyler's weak voice broke Stan's musings for the second time that night. He lifted his head, gently nudging his young master's hand with his snout. Bennett and Ellen both rested their hands on his pale forehead, making gentle shushing sounds.

_I'm here, buddy. I'm not going anywhere._

Chloe started to cry softly. She pulled from Avery's grip and rushed over to her brother. Bennett gently pushed her back.

"Don't crowd him, Chloe." Ellen whispered to her.

Stan whined once, pressing his head against Tyler's hand, and he was sure that he felt a tremor of strength run through the boys arm.

Then, it went slack.

He pressed his ear against Tyler's wrist. He couldn't hear anything.

Bennett shook his son hard, shouting for him to wake up, to move. Tyler's head tipped back, more blood. His neck and arms were limp against the sweat-soaked blankets. His chest rose one last time.

Stan dropped his head to the carpet as Tyler breathed out.

The soft echo drifted around the family for a moment, then it vanished into the numb silence that filled room. Ellen wrapped her arms around Avery and Chloe, as if death were catching.

A moment of silence, and then Stan heard the soft, clear sound of a human male crying.

Stan saw Bennett's hand drop heavily from the crook of Tyler's neck, then gently fold the boy closer to him.

Stan didn't have to see anything else. He somehow knew there would be no more immature texts, no more pranks, or anything. He knew would ever be the same, nothing would ever truly be alright again.

He knew that as of right now, his new family was broken.

He knew Tyler was dead.


	3. What Has Been Decided

_Lye_

This was another word Stan wasn't familiar with. Apparently, is was some sort of chemical people weren't supposed to drink. It's needed for cleaning, something that the kids in that boot camp were required to do. The doctors said that they believed it had somehow gotten in the food Tyler was eating, as it is also a powerful oven cleaner. Sometimes, kids who'd been desperate enough would drink it, killing themselves almost instantly.

The autopsy reports said that most of Tyler's stomach and intestines had severe burns and tissue damage. They believed the lye had eaten away his organs, and he bleed to death from inside.

Everyone in the house was numb. Too numb to cry or talk about anything too loudly, it was like everyone was still afraid that Tyler was just asleep upstairs. It was like nobody understood that he was gone.

When the mortician, an old man with a receding hairline, finally arrived, Ellen made Avery and Chloe go upstairs, and crank up Avery's TV to maximum volume.

Stan was on the couch, nobody really cared to stop him at this point. He watched as Bennett, his body racked with tremors, carried Tyler's limp body down the stairs. After one night being dead, Tyler had grown pale and thin. Dried blood soaked the collar of his shirt.

The mortician took the rigid form, and gently carted him down the driveway. The service, Bennett had said, was in six days time.

Ellen gently leaned against the door. Bennett watched as his firstborn son vanished into a hearse. Stan looked at the strange black car, hating it immediately. He watched as Bennett dropped to his knees in the doorway, Ellen placing her hands on his shoulders.

Stan wanted to cry. He wanted to stop being strong in front of everyone and give in to his pain. His owner died in front of him, that had to merit expression. But, he knew he couldn't. He knew he had to stick it out, for his families sake. Lye broke this family, somehow he knew that he needed to hold it together.

As quietly as he could, he padded up to Bennett and rested his head on his trembling shoulder. Together, they watched as the hearse drove what remained of Tyler roll down the road until it disappeared from sight.


	4. What Has Been Painted

_Hey everyone, I'm sorry I haven't been on for a while. With the funeral and the stress going on around the house recently, it's been kind of hard to get to a computer._

Stan typed quietly, only listening to the voice in his head that spelled it all out.

_It's been five weeks since Tyler passed, but the family is still grieving pretty heavily. Avery hasn't left her room for the past few days, and I can tell Ellen is starting to worry. Bennett says its normal, after all, she's only twelve. _

_Honestly, I don't think it's normal. I think that she's hurting a lot more than she lets on. I see how the art wall in her room has changed. I see how the bright colors stop in the center, only to be replaced by a cluster of dark swirls that don't look like anything._

_Chloe hasn't said much since that night. Sometimes she just sits at her dollhouse and cries. Bennett went in her room one day to find a doll that looked like Tyler covered in red-finger paint. He went in to talk to her about it, but they just sat there and cried. _

_Anyway, I'm sorry for not blogging lately. _

Stan clicked out of the window, Avery entered the room. She looked around, like she was seeing everything for the first time. Stan padded up to her quietly.

"How ya holdin' up, Avery?" She strived for normality, something that had been precious-rare around the house as of late.

In her hands, he noticed, she had a small wrapped package. He smelt a wooded scent of it, one that he remembered pretty well.

He remembered smelling it on Tyler's clothes when Bennett helped him through the door. The kid was already a wreck, dripping with cold sweat and bloodless in the face. Stan remembered having to step back when Tyler doubled over and lost it on the threshold.

He shuddered at the painful memory, he tried to shake the smell out of his nostrils.

"Mom found this in Tyler's suitcase." She said simply, running her finger over the papyrus covering.

Stan looked at the top of the box. Avery's name was written in untidy scrawl on the corner.

"Should I...?"

"Open it." Stan urged softly.

"I don't know..."

"I think Tyler would've wanted it."

Gently, she undid the tape, taking her time like always. The parchment fell away, revealing a glass case overflowing with paint.

Avery took in a quick breath of surprise. She turned the case over a few times, studying the lids of each. As she turned it over, a small case of paint thinner fell out of the top.

She picked it up and squinted at it, trying to decipher the tiny writing on the side. Stan looked at Avery, loving how in love she was with this gift.

For the first time, he though she would be happy. Stan gave her a hopeful look.

Avery's fingers were trembling, shaking the tiny canister of thinner like a blancmange. She dew a shaky breath, and it fell to the floor. Stan caught a glimpse of the minuscule writing on the side. His face fell.

_Caution: Contains lye. Contact Poison Control immediately if swallowed._

Stan gazed helplessly at Avery, who simply stared ahead breathlessly. Her eyes fell.

Then she collapsed to her knees and wailed.


	5. What Can Never Be Fixed

He watches as she prepares to leave. He lays on the floor, he's too old to get up on the couch. Ten years old is getting on for a dog. He's sure he's for a few good years left in him, but he's still been through a lot for a dog.

He can't remember the last time he blogged anything, he wouldn't be supposed if his blog had been taken down.

He knows he should be happy for her. Admittance into college is definitely something to be proud of. But he can't help but feel sad; Avery was his best friend, after all. He outlived most of the neighborhood dogs he used to pal around with. He didn't care to meet other ones, they'll just die on him.

And he's seen enough death for a lifetime, the next tombstone he wants to see is his own. No one else's. Heaven knows Avery has walked him by that special spot in the cemetery enough. He's seen the same headstone enough.

Chloe, through some miracle, has managed to pick up and move on as best as she could. Ellen and Bennett aren't so lucky, he still wakes up to muffled crying some nights. When he does, he pads quietly to whoever's bedside and nuzzles up against them. The same way he did all those years ago.

The night when he helped Tyler go to sleep. Forever.

"Stan?" Avery's voice sounded so old now. "Are you okay, buddy?"

"Yeah." He didn't care much for talking now. "I'm fine. I'm just gonna miss you."

"Aw, Stan, I'll miss you too." She knelt down and wrapped her arms around his neck. "But, you know, I'll be home for the Christmas before you know it."

"I know, Ave." He smiled up at her. "But I'm still gonna miss you."

"I know, Stan." She gently scratched behind his ear. "I promise, I'll call tonight."

"Okay." He heaved a sigh as she zipped up her luggage. "Bye, Avery."

"G'bye, Stan."

The door swung closed behind her. He lays his head down on the couch. The family would drive her up to northern California now, which was a good two hour drive. He has the house to himself.

He walked over to the computer, using a good bit of strength to heave himself up into his chair. He blinked his eyes at his old blog icon, hidden from the others. He clicked it.

"Stan, where'd you go?

"Why haven't you updated?"

"Guys, he's gone. Just let it go."

"I never liked this blog anyway."

The most recent comment dated back two years. No point in starting anything else up.

He closed the window and double-clicked his icon. He paused a moment, then clicked the little box marked: DELETE.

He sighed. He really was just a dog now. Silently, he crept up to the room at the end of the hall. Tyler's old bedroom.

He hesitated, then pushed the door open with his nose. He looked noiselessly around the empty room.

Most of the furniture had been moved out or thrown away. All that was left was his bed, his video-game systems and his T.V. Stan couldn't smell anything other than the slight layer dust that coated the room.

With all his remaining strength, he pushed himself up on the bed. He tranced his nose over the outline of the pillow. It still smelled like hair-care product, just like Tyler.

He curled up on the bed, his head resting on the pillow. He blinked away a few tears, not wanting to lost the scent.

"I'm sorry, Tyler." He whispered. "I'm so sorry."

A light wind from nowhere ruffled his fur, a gentle stroke across the ears. He looked up. The door and windows were all closed.

"I'm sorry too, sorry I had to leave."

That voice. Stan slowly turned his head. There was nobody there. Nobody.

He lays down his head, the tears come harder. His master was gone, his family would always be severed. He could fix everyone. But he could never heal himself, maybe dogs just couldn't, something in their bloodline, maybe. He just knew he couldn't fix things, he supposed, couldn't be fixed once they shattered in such a way.

That was exactly what he was, that's what he family, and (to him) all of Creation was right now:

Totally and eternally broken.


End file.
